


Ace Combat: War Horizon

by Zaku



Category: Ace Combat
Genre: Ace Combat - Freeform, Assault Horizon, Circum-Pacific War, Gen, Osea, Scars of Ulysses, Strangereal, Yuktobania
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7361737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaku/pseuds/Zaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short (should come out to 5000-ish words) adaptation of Assault Horizon to Scars of Ulysses canon. 15 years after fighting in the Belkan War, Colonel Bishop is a washed up weekend warrior with PTSD and a desk job. When the Yukes attack, he seeks closure at any cost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmare

**Near Sudentor**

**Sudland, Belka**

**6/6/1995 1501 (1301 Zulu)**

 

“Captain?  Captain, you there?”

“Shit!” William Bishop shouted, peeking out from between his fingers.  The sky was set aflame with mushroom clouds across the Waldreichs, steadily edging their way through the stratus overcast.

“Holy fuck, did the krauts lose their shit?” a garbled transmission asked through airwaves drenched with radiation; the RWR let out hectic blares as gamma waves battered its antenna.

“No way, it’s gotta be the fucking reds,” another pilot interjected.

Will grabbed his throttle to key his mic.  “I don’t know!” he replied.  “Magic, you still with us?  Magic!”  

Silence followed, until his wingman replied, “They’ve gotta be dead, lead; the whole AO got lit the fuck up!”

“Damn,” Will said as he glanced over inoperative displays.  “Warwolf, we have to RTB, figure out what’s going on.”

“You think there’s a home to go back to?”

“I don’t know,” he said in a flat tone.  Gently banking away as he gazed out at the pillars of fire, three Eagles formed up on his wing.  Without warning, a single plane shot past them from ahead, and left a thunderous sonic boom in its wake.

“Flanker!” Warwolf four announced.  

Will frantically searched for it.  “What?”

“Two-tone blue, lead; that’s Yuke,” the pilot answered.

“What’s he doing?” Will wondered aloud, stretching to look behind his seat.  He froze up as smoke trails came into view, and flinched as two Eagles exploded, casting flaming debris along their flightpaths.  The Flanker followed moments later, screaming past the survivors and dumping flares.

“Shit!” Will shouted.  “Two, you there?”

“Yeah, what the fuck was that?”

Adrenaline and instinct took over as he switched to Sidewinders and lit his burners.  “Just kill it, engage!”

The Flanker was turning wide as Will burst through its clouds of countermeasures, but his missiles let out a pathetic whimper as it came into view.  “...the EMP,” he mumbled, before banking hard to stay on its tail.  The Flanker leveled off, and Will’s gun pipper projected a virtual stream of bullets alongside green tracers from the Yuke.  

“Lead, he’s on me!” Warwolf 2 cried.  Will looked a few seconds ahead to see an Eagle getting peppered with cannon rounds.

“I’ve got him.”  He pulled the trigger, sending a red torrent towards the Flanker before it nimbly darted to the side to reveal a burning Eagle.  The Yuke suddenly pulled up and bled off airspeed fast, passing alongside Will’s Eagle with a high alpha.  Feeling time slow down, he stared at its nose art: hideous shark mouth sprawled across the radome, gills ripped into its skin, and contemptuous eyes that glared back at him.

It passed behind, and he desperately mashed the flare release while jinking the stick, jostling him around the cockpit.  A strong jolt, accompanied with a loud bang and blinking annunciator lights, threw him forward.  Jiggling the stick had no effect as the plane started easing towards the ground.  The warning system monotonously alternated between speaking “engine,” and “pull up.”

The Flanker reappeared, afterburning above him and speeding off his nose.  It dove down and approached head on, dropping two Archers off of its rails before pulling out of sight.  

Will’s jet floundering from the sky, he scrambled to grab the yellow handle between his legs, but couldn’t shake his gaze from the approaching missiles.

 

* * *

 

He opened his eyes with a gasp to find himself grasping for the drab ceiling above.  The morning sun filtered in through thinly drawn curtains as he leaned up rubbed his sore temples.  With shaking hands, he grabbed a pill bottle from between a collection of half-filled fifths on nightstand and hastily popped some Zoloft before collapsing back into bed.

“Goddammit,” he muttered as the scene replayed endlessly in his head.  He aimlessly groped the nightstand and latched onto a lukewarm bottle of cheap bourbon before sitting up to down a gulp.  His burning throat cleared his mind as he stumbled out of bed.

 

* * *

 

**Palmer Falls ANGB**

**Klamath, Midland District, Osea**

**9/27/2010 1221 (1121 Zulu)**

 

“Man, boss, you look like shit today,” Jose said.  “Sir,” he quickly added.

“I feel like shit, Guts” Will mumbled as the Captain walked alongside him on the apron, towards the Ops Group offices.  It was a sunny day, and his hungover eyes still struggled to adjust to the scorching light.

Jose raised an eyebrow.  “Something wrong?”

“Uh, no- nothing.  Just a dream.”

“That one again?”  

Will grumbled in response.  “What’s going on today, any more leakers?”

“Yessir, a couple drones and fighters over Sand Island.  108th lost their CO.”

“Damn.  Any details?”

He shook his head.  “Naw, ACC’s pretty tight lipped.  They’ve got us running BARCAPs in the ADIZ all day, though.”  

Eagles roared in the distance, and they both paused to look at the runway as the fighters gracefully lifted off.  Will bitterly pictured the single logbook page he’d filled this year.

“Some serious shit’s goin’ down,” Jose continued.

“No kidding,” Will answered as he stumbled through the door, squinting at halogen bulbs that offered his eyes no respite.  Airmen scrambled between cubicles inside, and one rushed up to him with a sheepish salute.

“Uh, sir, bad news.”

He furrowed his brow.  “What is it?”

An explosion outside rumbled the building, and cockpit warning voices from fifteen years ago blared in his head.  “Colonel!” Jose shouted from the door, gesturing for him to come outside.  Will ran to his side.

A black smoke trail leapt from the runway and arced down to the outlying forests.  Two Flankers flew directly over the runway, broken off from the spiral contrails of a furball in their wake.  The lead plane wore a familiar red marking across its nose.

“...no,” Will mumbled, frozen in a sea of frantic airmen.  The plane drew closer, and as it passed, its eye met him with a furious glare.

He stood silently with his mouth agape, the calamities of the present drowned out by nightmares from the past.


	2. Interlude 1 - Squadrons

**8th Tactical Fighter Squadron, “Warwolves”**

**Air Combat Command / 1st Air Force / 66th Composite Wing**

**Lorenz AFB, Braunstein, Rowan District**

 

The 8th Flying Squadron was one of Osea’s first air units, formed during the Osean War in 1908.  Flying out of Lorenz AFB, they were a component of the 6th Observation Group, redesignated the 66th Tactical Fighter Wing at the beginning of the Cold War.

In the 1980s the 66th TFW was reorganized into the OADF’s first Composite Wing, a joint command of air-to-air, air-to-surface, and airborne ISR and mobility assets designed for expeditionary deployments.  The concept was put to the test in 1986, when Osea covertly supported Kalugan revolutionaries seeking to overthrow their pro-Yuktobanian government.  Though the wing performed well in combat, maintaining OPSEC with the large number of personnel involved proved difficult, and news of Osea’s involvement gradually leaked out.  The 66th CW was withdrawn and the revolution was put down.

The 8th TFS again found itself on the frontlines when the Belkan War broke out, and its pilots sortied in support of most major operations on the Western Front.  When the nukes fell on July 6, a quarter of its aircraft were lost to fratricide carried out by a Yuktobanian pilot.  The 8th TFS was disestablished in President Harling’s 2005 BRAC reforms, with its aircraft disposed of or distributed to other 66th CW assets.

 

* * *

  


**214th Fighter Squadron, “Sluggers”**

**Klamath Air National Guard (Air Combat Command when federalized) / 273d Fighter Wing**

**Palmer Falls ANGB, Klamath, Midland District**

 

Along with the 207th Rescue Wing, the 273d Fighter Wing is a component of the Klamath Air National Guard based at Palmer Falls International Airport.  The wing includes only one flying squadron, the 214th FS.  As its sister wing is better equipped for domestic duties under the Governor’s chain of command, the 214th is often tasked with maintaining federal air sovereignty as an Air Reserve Component of the OADF.  

The 214th was established as the 114th Pursuit Squadron during the Great War, flying P-47 Thunderbolts from NAS St. Hewlett.  With the major reorganization of Osean military assets in 1957, they were redesignated the 214th Tactical Fighter Squadron and made a component of the newly-formed Klamath Air National Guard.

The 214th lost its tactical prefix and upgraded to F-15Cs through BRAC in 2005, receiving a dozen surplus airframes to replace its aging F-15As.  Only 50 miles away from both St. Hewlett and the Eaglin Straits, the 214th plays an essential role in policing Osea’s ADIZ near these strategic Ceres Fleets assets.


	3. Shockwave

**Palmer Falls ANGB**

**Klamath, Midland District, Osea**

**9/27/2010 1755 (1655 Zulu)**

 

Will hunched over a podium in a darkened room, illuminated by LED lanterns while the base’s generators sat in a crater outside.  “I know we’ve been through a lot already, but ACC’s tasking us with CONOPS for the next few days, protecting the carriers while they retreat to defensible bastions.  See the medical group if you need go-pills.  We’ll be on call for at least the next forty-eight hours.”

“As for that Flanker with the sharkmouth,” he continued as he allowed his mind to wander, “our intel boys are trying to figure out what unit they belong to, but half the VVS is at that airbase right now, it’s gonna take us awhile to-”  

The scream of AL-31s called out to him from the darkness and toned out his voice.

“...awhile to-”

They stopped the second he paused to collect himself, and suddenly the silence overwhelmed him.

“...excuse me,” he told the few surviving pilots, feeling dizzy as he scanned the briefing room’s empty seats.  Leaving the podium with forced composure, he broke out into a run in the hallway, sharply turning into the men’s room.  

He felt a sharp pain in his knees as he collapsed into a stall and caught the rim of a toilet with his hands.  Sinking his head into the bowl, a stream of bile and breakfast splashed water onto his cheeks.  He stopped to catch his breath, and after a few moments stumbled over to a sink.

Turning off the faucet, Will looked up at the mirror.  His exasperated face shifted in and out of focus before it faintly morphed into the hateful sneer of that enemy Flanker.  He thrust his fist at the reflection.  “Fuck!  Shit!  Damn!” he shouted with each punch, cutting his knuckles on the jagged glass.  Blood ran down the white porcelain and mixed with the bits of vomit that didn’t stay caked into his stubble.  

 

* * *

 

**Murska Airbase**

**Pobeda Oblast, Yuktobania**

**9/27/2010 1401 (1701 Zulu)**

 

“Ura!” throngs of pilots cheered as a pilot deplaned.  His Flanker sat at the end of the flightline, its sharkmouth nose art setting it apart from the rest.  A major rushed over and handed him a bottle of vodka, exclaiming, “Congratulations, Comrade Colonel!”

The colonel took a long swig before removing his helmet.  Liquor streamed down his beard as he smirked.  “Comrades,” he shouted, climbing back onto his plane’s ladder and holding the bottle above his head, “today we began a righteous crusade against the fascist whores who have defiled our motherland for too long!”

“We have told them that we will never forgive their betrayals of the last century!  The indignities of Karabastan!  Romny!  Kaluga!”  He winced as he spoke the last word.

“The motherland has granted us a contemptible enemy,” he continued, “and from this day forward we show our resolve to not rest until their degenerate nation suffers as we have!”

“Ura!” the crowd cheered.  “Ura!  Ura!”

 

* * *

 

 

**Off the shore of Alexandria**

**Shobrick, Midland District, Osea**

**10/3/2010 0748 (0648 Zulu)**

 

“Slugger, Bandsaw.”

Soaring under the scattered ceiling, Will peered down at the thin wakes drawn behind the _Harrier_ ’s battlegroup.  He looked back at his HUD and made fine attitude adjustments.  “Yeah, go ahead, Bandsaw.” 

“Slugger, new tasking.  Kill bandit group bearing two-niner-zero, five five zero miles, angels thirty, hot.  Don’t bother to VID, bandits are following Backfire attack profile and ROE is green while the battlegroup is in BMD mode.”

“Roger, we’re on it,” he replied.  “Guts, you with me?”

“Let’s get ‘em, boss.”  Jose’s Eagle shot ahead of him with burners lit; Will pushed his throttle forward, feeling a strong jolt when his afterburners engaged.  

With the bump, he felt a wave of exhaustion descend from his forehead and make its way out to his extremities.  Closing his eyes as his vision blurred, he instinctively rubbed the front of his helmet while keying the radio.  “I think my stims are wearing off,” he moaned.  

“Hey I’m tired,” Jose said, “but I’m ready to take down some reds.”

“Yeah, me too.”  Faint blips appeared on the edge of his radar.  “Shit, I see them, twelve o’ clock,” he said.  “We’ll hit them with slammers when we get in range, then mop up the survivors.”

“Got it.”  Contacts split off of the main formation, and Will’s RWR chirped a warning as Guts interjected, “They’re painting us.”

“Turn music on,” Will ordered.  “Bandsaw, we need jammers.”

“EA-6, callsign Zapper, can divert from Tomcat group, ETA five mikes.”

“Shit,” he muttered, “that’s too long.  Guts, fire now and break before we reach Adder range, go.”

“Wilco; fox three, fox three.”

“Slugger one, fox three,” Will announced before thumbing the weapon release button.

The Eagles dropped all eight of their AMRAAMs, dumped chaff, and veered away.  Pulling five g’s, the blood rapidly drained from Will’s head.  Bladders painfully squeezed his calves as his heart struggled to keep up.  “Guts, I’m too tired for this shit,” he said.  “Once we get up there keep the fighters off me, I’ll get the bombers.”

“Got your back, sir.”

They climbed together in their missiles’ wakes, until the clouds gave way to slate-colored bombers drawing contrails under thin waves of cirrus crystals.  “Slugger’s got eyes on them, six bandits,” Will said.  

He squinted, making out tiny specks turning towards them.  Puffs of smoke appeared under the escorts’ wings; he pushed the flare button on his console and instinctively jinked, greying out his vision while missiles followed by Fulcrums raced past his cockpit.  Too starved for oxygen to be fazed, he breathed heavily while his darkened peripheral vision blocked out everything but the Blackjacks.  

Easing behind the bombers, a gunsight appeared on his HUD.  He pulled the trigger as the pipper settled on a Blackjack, only to flinch and send tracers arcing over it.  “Fuck!” he exclaimed, pushing his stick down until the stream of bullets tore a wing off and the blood in his eyes colored the scene a deep red.  “Splash a Blackjack!”

He turned his head to lock another bomber into his tunnel vision.  Letting off the trigger, he yawed towards it and let out another blast from his cannon, ripping through its engines and fuselage. As it fell, launch rails pushed a few missiles out of its missile bay.  They lit their motors and rushed   He looked around as his eyesight returned to normal, and saw the other four planes dumping their payload in unison.

“Oh no- oh, fuck, no; Bandsaw!”

“Uh, go ahead Slugger,” the ABM replied.

“Bandsaw, they launched Kickbacks, there’s a few dozen!”

Will’s stomach sank while he impotently watched fifty missiles streak ahead of him at hypersonic speeds.  He mindlessly fired off a Sidewinder, watching it struggle to keep up and go ballistic after running out of fuel.

The AWACS operator audibly sighed “Battlegroup, switch to air defense mode, vampires inbound from Slugger’s AO.”

Will’s head went on autopilot as RWR tones and radar chatter buzzed in his ear, his hands instinctively doing the bare minimum to avoid the enemy fighters.  The Fulcrums weaved between him and Guts, occasionally exploding from Guts’ Sidewinders.  Eventually the rest bugged out, and Will noted one transmission from the AWACS:

“All aircraft, be advised, single ballistic contact launching from five-zero-zero miles northwest of bullseye, zoom to above angels five to avoid the blast.”

Phalanx tracers and RAM smoke shot up from the battlegroup in the distance as the Yuke missiles drew closer.  Four smoke trails went higher than the rest, arcing towards the horizon and punching their way into the stratosphere.

“OFS  _ Cygnus  _ lost to Kickbacks,” Bandsaw said, “all BMD capability lost, brace for impact!”

Sailors panicked with frenzied voices on the radio channel as Bandsaw tried to speak over them.  Maintaining his lucid daze while the amphetamines wore off, Will pondered his options.

“...hey, uh, Guts,” he asked with a monotone drawl, “you think my heaters can lock onto that thing’s friction?”

“What thing?”

“The uh…” he answered, lazily combing over his brain for the right word, “the missile.”

“...what?”

“Fuck it, it’s worth a shot,” he said to himself while transmitting.

Turning towards its approximate bearing, Will switched his radar to its maximum range and climbed with full afterburners.  A blip appeared on his radar display, closing at a few miles per second.  He placed his velocity vector on the target and waited.

It was five seconds away at twenty-five miles.  His Sidewinders went from a low murmur to an angry growl in an instant.  He shot all three off the rails, and they converged on a point in the sky.  After a small explosion, the missile’s payload ignited the air around it with a bright flash.  As it faded he saw glimpses of the burning skies over the Waldreichs, until a shockwave knocked his head into his seat and back to the present.

“SLBM has... disappeared?” Bandsaw said in a confused tone.

“ _ Harrier _ confirms that the missile exploded at high altitude,” a carrier crewman answered with cheers in the background.

“I, uh- I shot it down,” Will replied.

“What?”

“The missile.  I shot it down,” he said, and could almost hear the ABM roll her eyes in the following pause.

“Slugger,” she replied, “new Tomcat flight is launching; you’re relieved, RTB and get some rest.”

“Slugger RTB,” Will mumbled.  Glancing down at the sea, he saw the carrier steaming ahead, but a cruiser and three frigates lagged behind, taking on water and billowing smoke from their superstructures.  After turning his autopilot on, he closed his eyes and drifted off to a deep and dreamless sleep.  


	4. Interlude 2 - Ships

**Osean Federal Ship _Harrier_ (CVN-24)**

_Hubert_ class Nuclear-powered Aircraft Carrier, _Hubert_ subclass

Motto: _Vis Per Mare_

The OFS _Harrier_ is the third ship of the _Hubert_ class, built at Bannion Iron Works and commissioned into the Ceres Fleet in 1974.  After completing her first refueling in 1999, she was transferred to the Pacific Fleet and stationed at Naval Station Stafford.

After the loss of the _Buzzard_ and _Vulture_ , the _Harrier_ was transferred to the Ceres Fleet to reinforce the surviving _Kestrel_ and _Barbet_.  Coming under cruise missile and thermobaric SLBM attack, she survived thanks to interception by her air wing and Klamath ANG assets.

The _Harrier_ survived the war, and three years later was sold to the Emmerian Navy, who currently operate her as the _Cavour_ (R30).  She has been replaced in the Ceres Fleet by the _Falcon_ class OFS _Eagle_ (CVN-32).

Squadrons onboard during the Circum-Pacific War were VF-2 Gunslingers, VF-33 Chargers, VFA-41, VFA-131, VAW-120, and VAQ-131, whose aircrews collectively incurred casualty rates over 50% on expeditionary assignments to Yuktobania.

 

* * *

 

**_Excalibur_ class Guided Missile Cruiser**

_Excalibur_ class CGs were built off the hulls of _Cavalier_ class DDGs and designed to protect Osean carrier battlegroups from Yuke air-to-surface saturation attacks.  Flight I is characterized by twin-armed missile launchers as its primary weapon, entered service in 1976, and are all named after legendary swords in OMDF service.  Flight II entered service over the late 80s and early 90s with VLS cells replacing the older launchers; the OMDF names their Flight II ships, including the _Cygnus_ , after legendary birds. 

Relatively expensive and extremely advanced when they were first unveiled, Excaliburs have been exported only to strategically close and affluent Osean allies: North Point, the FCU, Erusea, and Emmeria.  The GRDF bought surviving Usean _Excaliburs_ after the Unification War.

 

* * *

 

**_Cormorant_ class Guided Missile Frigate**

The _Cormorant_ class is an offshoot of the WFR-80 (Western Frigate Replacement - 1980s) program that produced the Aurelian _Gerfault_ class FFG and Osean _Apito_ class FFG.  After one of the first _Apitos_ was lost to Scofieldian ASMs in the _Wesson_ Incident, the OMDF sought to acquire a replacement.  

Adding an air search radar and Phalanx to the _Gerfault_ , and replacing its Aurelian Exocets with Harpoons, the OMDF bought 36 of these ships and named them after birds, breaking from Osean naming conventions.  Widely exported to Osean allies, the _Cormorant_ is one of the most prolific classes of warships in the world.

Lacking phased array radars and slow to fire from their single-armed launchers, Cormorants proved extremely vulnerable to Yuke air attack in the Circum-Pacific War, prompting the OMDF to revive the _Totten_ class DDG project from the 90s.


End file.
